Someone might as well roll up the whole sky, pack it away for good.

I heard this expression once: Each time someone dies, a library burns. I'm watching it burn right to the ground.

And why do English people sound smarter than the rest of us? Like they should be awarded the Nobel Prize for a simple greeting?

Remember how it was when we kissed? Armfuls and armfuls of light thrown right at us. A rope dropping down from the sky. How can the word love and the word life even fit in the mouth?

Our tongues have fallen madly in love and gotten married and moved to Paris.

Who wants to know that the person you love and need the most can just vanish forever

I gasp, because Isn't that just exactly what I've been doing too: writing poems and scattering them to the winds with the same hope as Gram that someone, someday, somewhere might understand who I am, who my sister was, and what happened to us.